Attempted Matrimony Page 14

  She watched Malcomb as he ran his electric razor over his face, then raked a comb through his thick hair. He was boldly handsome even at this hour of the morning. But when she looked at him now, she didn’t see the man she’d married, but a cold, calculating stranger.

  She wondered what he’d do if she just blurted out the question that plagued her. Asked him if he’d killed Karen and the three other women. Would he go berserk and kill her the same way? Or would he merely stare at her as if she’d lost her mind, and calmly walk out of the house?

  “Get some sleep, Nicole. You don’t look well.”

  No. She wasn’t well.

  He bent over and kissed her, tangling one hand in the hair at her nape and letting his thumb slide along the tendons in her neck. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

  “What’s the matter, Nicole? You’re trembling. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.”

  “No, of course not.” Her words came out a hoarse whisper.

  He trailed one finger between her breasts, stretching the fabric of her thin gown so that it bound tight about her nipples. “You’re much prettier than the women in those pictures, Nicole. Much prettier.”

  He bent and kissed her one last time as a cold, strangling dread almost choked her. She could see him doing the same with Karen. Touching her, reassuring her, then killing her. And the expression on his face would never change at all.

  Nicole shuddered and leaned against the door as Malcomb’s receding footsteps sounded in the hall. He was leaving now, but he’d be back. A new feeling rocked though her. More potent than dread, more mind-numbing even than seeing the pictures had been.

  The feeling was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicole slept fitfully the rest of the night, tossing and turning, finally falling into a sound sleep, only to wake in a cold sweat from a nightmare that seemed all too real. She’d been fishing with her dad and Ronnie on a peaceful lake. Her cork had gone under, and when she’d tried to pull the fish in, she’d had to struggle to keep from going overboard herself.

  She’d turned to her father and Ronnie for help, but they’d disappeared. She was all alone in the middle of the lake, and when her catch surfaced she saw that it wasn’t a fish at all, but a man draped in seaweed and carrying a silver-bladed knife in his gnarled hand.

  Mercifully, she’d managed to shake herself out of the nightmare at that point and had discovered Malcomb sleeping soundly beside her. She hoped that meant Jim was okay, but when morning had come and Malcomb had wakened, he told her that Jim’s condition was still unstable. Malcomb hadn’t taken time for breakfast or given her a chance to ask the questions that plagued her mind. He’d just gotten dressed and headed back to the hospital, leaving her alone with her doubts and fears.

  She’d called Dallas before Malcomb’s car had cleared the driveway. Now she was showered, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a bright blue shirt and waiting for him to arrive. It would have been better if they could have met elsewhere, but this time she wanted to get his reactions to the pictures in the study. And all the while, she prayed with all her might that Malcomb wasn’t capable of the hideous crimes.

  The doorbell rang. Nicole jumped as if shot, though she’d been expecting the sound. There was no doubt as to the jangled condition of her nervous system. The house she’d grown up in was no longer a haven. Now it felt as if she were tiptoeing around land mines, that if she made one wrong step, new horrors would explode in her face.

  She flung open the door. And there stood Janice. Observant, outspoken Janice. Practically the last person Nicole wanted to see this morning, especially with Dallas scheduled to arrive momentarily.

  “If you’re selling Avon, I don’t need any,” Nicole said, trying for flippancy.

  “Very funny. Besides, from the look of those puffy eyes and dark circles, I’d say you need all the help you can get.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What are cousins for, if not to speak the truth?”

  “Don’t tell me you decided to stop by on your way to work to check my makeup.”

  “No. To check your mental and emotional state.” She pushed past Nicole and into the house. “Malcomb called. He’s afraid all the talk about Karen Tucker’s murder is getting to you.”

  Ah, so that explained the unexpected visit. “We haven’t talked about the murder lately, only the incompetence of the police.”

  Janice dropped her handbag on the sofa as she passed, and headed straight for the kitchen. “The police, or Dallas Mitchell?” she opened the cupboard and reached for a coffee cup, choosing a pottery mug.

  “Exactly what did Malcomb tell you?” Nicole asked.

  “That the persistent and misguided detective was filling your brain with horseshit.”

  “Malcomb didn’t say that.”

  “Close. That’s what he meant.”

  “That’s Malcomb’s opinion.”

  “Which shows how perceptive he is. He doesn’t even know Dallas, and already he doesn’t like him.” Janice poured herself a cup of coffee. “What do you have to eat? I missed my stop for a bagel and coffee to check on you.”

  “You’ve checked and I’m fine. Go enjoy your bagel.”

  Janice took the twist tie off the end of a fresh loaf of wheat bread, removed a couple of slices and dropped them into the toaster. She took a sip of the coffee, made a face and set the mug on the counter with a thud. “What did you make this with, old potato peels?”

  “Malcomb likes his coffee strong.”

  “Yuck! But apparently he likes his wife happy and carefree.”

  “I guess that beats barefoot and pregnant.”

  “Not necessarily. But the point is the man’s worried about you. Now that I’m here I can see why. You’re not only irritable, but you’ve stood there and carefully folded a jelly-coated napkin.”

  Nicole looked down at her hands. The flowered breakfast napkins she’d meant to take to the laundry were still on the counter, and she’d folded one, probably would have put it back in the drawer, blackberry jam smears and all, if Janice hadn’t said something.

  “Okay, I admit I’m nervous, but it has nothing to do with Dallas. I have an early appointment at the dentist, and you know how I’ve always dreaded that. So let me give you a paper towel and you can take the toast with you.” She ripped a couple of towels from the roll and lay them on the counter.

  Janice ignored them and struck an intimidating pose, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “Just swear to me you’re not seeing Dallas Mitchell, Nicole. Not as a cop. Not as a friend. And definitely not as a lover. Convince me of that and I’ll go to work and leave you to your dental misery.”

  Nicole turned away. “I’m not seeing Dallas.”

  “You were always a damn poor liar. Don’t throw what you have with Malcomb away, Nicole. I know things aren’t perfect between you, but give yourself a chance to work them out. Malcomb’s a good man and he loves you.”

  “Malcomb’s not a good man. And he doesn’t love me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Damn. She hadn’t meant to get into this with Janice, not this morning. But the words had slipped out and there was no taking them back. “I don’t want to go into it now, but we’re having serious marital problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  The pictures flashed into her mind, the snapshots of nudes and the horrible images that had decorated the wall behind the desk. “I can’t go into all the details now, but he’s not the saint that everyone thinks he is.”

  Janice stepped closer. “Is he running around?”

  “I’m not sure. I only know that he lies and that he’s…” Licentious. Sordid. Depraved. Those were the words that defiled her mind, but she couldn’t say those things, not even to Janice, not until she had a better handle on everything. “I don’t trust him. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t go on like this.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I
didn’t know. Why didn’t you say something?” Janice wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll help you get through this and—” The doorbell interrupted her. “Were you expecting someone?”

  Nicole exhaled sharply, knowing that Janice’s sympathy was about to shift dramatically. Still, she couldn’t avoid the obvious. “I’m expecting Dallas, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Good. Because I think you’ve lost your mind.”

  “I’m perfectly sane.”

  “Then get rid of him. No matter how upset you are, Dallas is not the answer.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t know what’s going on, and take my word for it, you don’t want to. Now why don’t I see you out as I answer the door?”

  “Even if you’re vulnerable enough to see him now, I can’t believe the man has the balls to show up here.”

  “This is business. Nothing more.”

  “But it will be. I saw it in your eyes the other day. You were never able to think straight where he was concerned. You’ll let him break your heart again. Haven’t you learned by now that he has no more staying power than a tube of cheap lipstick?”

  “I’ll take care of my heart, but I do need one favor from you. Please, don’t mention Dallas’s being here to Malcomb. I’ll explain it all one day soon. But for now, just trust me.”

  “I trust you. But I don’t trust Dallas. I think having anything to do with him is a gigantic mistake.”

  And maybe it was. Maybe the whole idea that Malcomb could be a killer was a mistake. It might be as far-fetched as it seemed. But a few days ago, she would have thought finding snapshots of naked women in his study would have been unthinkable, would have thought him incapable of the lies he told and the secrets he harbored. Ten short months ago, she’d thought him a prince.

  Dallas and Janice met at the door, stared at each other as if they were dueling and waiting for the signal to go for their weapons. Dallas looked from Janice to Nicole. “Hope I’m not interrupting any thing.”

  “Just my cousin’s life,” Janice quipped.

  “You’re not interrupting anything,” Nicole assured him, taking his arm and tugging him inside. “Janice was just leaving.”

  “I’m leaving, going to work, which is exactly what you should be doing,” Janice said, walking past Dallas. “Don’t you have a killer to catch?”

  “Thanks for the reminder. I’d almost forgotten.”

  She turned back to Nicole. “Remember what I said. Cheap lipstick.”

  “Charming cousin you have,” Dallas said, as Nicole closed and locked the front door. “What brought her around this time of the morning?”

  “Apparently Malcomb called her and asked her to check on me.”

  “Why?”

  “He seems to think my being upset is something a few reassuring words from Janice can fix.”

  “Are she and Malcomb that close?”

  “Now that you mention it, they’re not close at all. I always got the impression that Malcomb didn’t care for her.”

  “Yet he called her now.”

  “I can’t explain anything Malcomb does anymore. I’m not sure I know him at all. That’s why I called you.”

  “I was hoping you’d call, but I get the impression this isn’t just about yesterday’s conversation.”

  “No.” The events from last night swam in her head, and it was as if she were seeing the pictures again. Worse, she imagined Malcomb’s fascination with them as he carefully cut, mounted and hung them in perfectly spaced positions. A twisted fascination with the bizarrely macabre. And twisted minds could do twisted things.

  Dallas stepped closer. “You’re trembling, Nicole. Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you? Because if he did—”

  “No.” Physically hurting her would have been so much easier to face than the suspicions that were grinding away at her sanity. “He didn’t hurt me, but I think he may have killed Karen Tucker.”

  ANTICIPATION MIXED WITH concern as Dallas followed Nicole up the winding outdoor staircase to the apartment over the garage. He believed Malcomb was Fastidious Freddie, and he wanted to prove it and stop the killing so badly he could feel the need coursing through his bloodstream, driving him like some unstoppable force.

  “Malcomb could be telling the truth about the pictures on the wall being part of Jim Castle’s lecture,” Nicole admitted, as she fitted the key into the lock. “I’m just hesitant to believe anything he says anymore. And even if the pictures are Jim’s, that doesn’t explain the saved clippings or the snapshots.”

  She opened the door. Dallas went in first and then stopped, totally unprepared for the rush of emotions that grabbed him. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy stepping back inside the room that held such potent memories, but after all this time, and with all that was going on, he hadn’t expected the jolt to be this strong.

  His body grew hard, instantly and unexpectedly aroused, as if some remnants of their lovemaking still haunted this space. Images from the past swirled in his mind, overpowering everything else. Nicole in his arms. Her body wet from the rain and hot from desire. Her soft, inviting lips. Her beautiful perky breasts. Her legs tangling with his.

  He gritted his teeth, willed the emotions to subside enough that he could function with a semblance of professionalism. But when those emotions died, fury set in. He’d dealt with all kinds of criminals in his day, but wasn’t sure he’d ever hated any of them the way he hated Malcomb Lancaster. Hated him not only for what he might have done, but for defiling this place and for dragging Nicole into this hell.

  Nicole’s panicky voice yanked Dallas back to the present. “The pictures are gone!” She walked across the room and beat a fist against the blank wall. “They were right here last night, covering the whole wall. Sickening, disgusting, depraved pictures.” She ran her finger along the painted drywall. “See? Here’re the holes where the tacks were, though he’ll probably have them filled and repainted before dark.”

  “He must have come back up here last night after the two of you went downstairs.”

  “No. He was with me until he went to bed. He fell asleep instantly, and didn’t get up until he got the call from Sara Castle about 2:00 a.m. And I know he left then because I heard his car back out of the driveway.”

  “I hate to ask at this point, what with all the frayed ends already dangling, but what did Sara Castle want to talk about at two in the morning?”

  Dallas listened to the explanation, his instincts kicking in big time as he analyzed the situation. Malcomb’s friend had tried to commit suicide by overdosing on antianxiety meds. Malcomb had rushed to the hospital, then left Jim’s bedside in the middle of the night while the guy was still unstable, and returned home to finish taking down a bunch of sick porno pictures that his wife has already seen, anyway.

  “Malcomb called the hospital just before he left this morning,” Nicole said. “Jim’s condition was improved, though he was still in recovery. Apparently his wife got to him in time to have his stomach pumped before most of the drugs reached his bloodstream. His physician wants him observed closely throughout the day, though.”

  Dallas let out a low whistle. “I guess killing yourself is one way to get out of providing a DNA sample, though not the one most people would have chosen.”

  “Why would you want a DNA sample from… Wait. You don’t think Jim was the father of Karen’s baby! Sara’s a wonderful wife and…” Nicole threw her hands up to her face and collapsed into Malcomb’s desk chair. “And he’s trying to overdose to the point of extinction. Okay, Dallas, I get the prize. Most naive adult female in the city, maybe in the state.”

  “You’re just not used to dealing with lying scum in white coats.”

  “I refuse to believe all doctors are like that.”

  “They’re not, no more than all salesclerks or all mechanics are. But being a doctor doesn’t make a man God, either, in spite of what a lot of people believe.” Dallas stepped behind Nicole and put his hands to her shoulders. Big m
istake. Awareness hit like a punch to the midsection, all but knocked the breath from him. He backed away.

  “Let’s take a look at those snapshots.” If she noticed the husky strain in his voice, she didn’t comment.

  She tugged on the drawer, pulled it open and looked inside. It was empty except for a pair of shears. “I’m not crazy, Dallas, and I didn’t imagine all of this. The photos were right here, in a blue plastic container. There must have been at least a dozen of them, all of different women. And there were newspaper clippings about the murders, as well.”

  She yanked open the top drawer on the left. “And last night this drawer was locked. I tried to jimmy it open but couldn’t.” She bolted from the chair and strode to the window, staring out at the garden. She looked sad, frightened, so alone he couldn’t bear it.

  Throwing aside caution and good sense, he walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned against him, went practically limp in his arms, her strength wavering. Protective instincts surfaced in suffocating waves, and he knew that no matter what sexual urges she stirred, he would only hold her and try to help her through a situation she couldn’t possibly have been prepared for.

  “None of this is your fault, Nicole. Just remember that. Malcomb made his own choices in all of this.”

  “It still hurts. I thought I knew him. When he slipped the ring on my finger in front of my family and friends, I was certain he loved me and that he was committed to building a life together. How could I have been so wrong?”

  “Maybe he does love you but is just so screwed up he can’t show it.”

  “I don’t think so. Even when he’s saying and doing the right things now, I feel more manipulated than loved. It’s as if we’re playing a game where the rules constantly change. No matter what I do, I’m going to lose.”

  “But it must have been different at some point, or you would never have married him. How did you meet him?”